Last night saw me drinking reasonably heavily and catching up with some pals from my time in the forces.

I stuck mainly to lager until it was running warm, then against my will someone forced an ice cold pint of Guiness in my mit.

I've never been a fan, it looks warm and chewy and does nothing for me.

After necking one I recall remarking on how easily it went down before proceeding to drink with my oppo until I couldn't lay on the pavement without holding on.

I got up this morning, made my excuses and left with a hangover that would kill a Rodney...... drove back to Gods county and set about my working day.

A stomach rumbling ache has been with me all day and I've had the usual post boozy do fear of trumping.

I must have been pulling faces as the frau asked me if I was chewing a small stone or just trying to frighten the plaster off the walls.

A couple of hours ago I picked up a magazine and wandered to my chambers to survey my kingdom. Sitting on the throne I began to relax and that familiar feeling of absolute pleasure coupled with that eye and cheek twitch let me know that this was going to be a magical experience.

My symptons were in check, I laid a beautiful 4lbs black pudding. Perfectly formed, tapered symetrically at both ends.... I recalled thinking how glad I was that it tapered, if my butt cheeks had given it a clean crimp they would have come slapping together with the sound of a minor explosion.

I sat there in a trance, and in total fear of turning round, in case the fcuker grabbed me and took me to ocean with him.

There was barely a need to wipe, just a tiny amount of moist musk, not even a crayon mark.

I kept hold of the paper in my right hand and pulled my pants up with the other... I left my trophy in the bottom of the pan and called the frau upstairs....... I was so excited she thought I'd won something...... when she saw it I got a big right hand to the shoulder and was called a 'filthy vile monster unfit to be out alone' I burst out laughing and asked her if she wanted to cuddle him before I set him free.

She left the room physically gagging

Its an absolute shame that every toilet experience isn't like that, I'd give up w@nking and spend my days drinking guiness and laying big black cables.

If you want a good guiness shoite, have yourself a barium meal before going on the lash, I had one for obvious medical reasons, and guiness was my favoured tipple. The next day I had the same pleasurable experience as MDN until it came to flush time.

WOULD THAT BIG BLACK TURD SHIFT?? would it chuff, it laid in the bottom of the pan like the brick that it was. It still holds the record for the most amount of flushes to bid adieu to a turd. In the end I had to resort to violence and beat into pieces with a broom handle, the cheeky tw@ even threatened to jump out and get me.

AAAHHHH the memories of youth long gone. Farewell my turd until we meet again.

Talking of body produce my recent experience I think is worthy of a mentionâ¦

A few months ago I was sat at work busying away whilst concentrating I hadnât noticed how I had be chewing on an elastic band.

Anyway the following afternoon I got those all to familiar rumblings in the pit of my stomach like someone was performing origami with my intestines. That set the alarm bells ringing in my head, instinct then takes over and as the palms of your hands begin to sweat your hoop is screaming for the nearest bog.

I did the shitty shuffle to the loo, knees knocked bum cheeks clenched firm, nodding and faking a smile as I pass my boss. Iâd just got into the hover position as my colon blew like an inner tube blatting the pan. Just before I wiped I had to have a gander at my freshly sprayed bum graffiti, low and behold, bobbing around in the fizzy gravy was the bright red elastic band!!!

I couldnât believe it, I would have fished it out and kept it a momento if it was for the fear of being sucked into the bubbling brown mess like quick sand.

Of course this has now pushed the curiosity button and Iâm continuously eyeing up random objects and wondering if they can survive the passage from mouth to bottyâ¦. Iâve got to confess the George Foreman Grille may have been a little ambitious for a first attempt.

I used to lodge with a vegetarian who was always leaving peanut torpedoes fully surfaced. Apparently, something in the diet increases bouyancy, and I was forever being confronted with the contents of his bowels. I kept complaining, but to no effect. So I fished one of the ******* out and popped it in his sandwich box in the fridge. He didn't say a fcuking word and the cnut moved out a week later. Not Guinness-related I know, but the thread brought back the memory of the cnut - who still owes me about forty bucks coming to think of it. I think I fcuked up on the reimbursement front.

I used to drink pints of pernod and lemmonade in germany (218 bottles between 1973/74).
The upshot of this was that my richards were a luvverly lime green clour in the mornings and smelt of anniseed. twaS A sin to flush them away.
Somwhow khaki never had the same memories for me .